


The universe sings for him alone

by Alphawave



Series: The universe sings [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Had to give this guy a fictional backstory, Implied/Referenced Torture, Less horror than my previous story, Mostly because Sigma has a bit more of his mind this time around, Psychological Horror, Sigma REALLY LOVES space and only kinda likes Moira as a friend, Stroopwafel is not a euthemism for anything (not in this fic anyway), cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 07:54:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19988692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphawave/pseuds/Alphawave
Summary: Talon tries to help him rehabilitate, but nothing can ever stop the universe's song. It wants him, and it wants him alone. It sings him its song because he is the only one that can hear it.





	The universe sings for him alone

The universe sings for him alone

Siebren didn’t plan to be an astrophysicist. Originally, when he was young, he held the lofty ambitions of becoming an astronaut. It was a typical childish dream, but one that he strived to achieve. He trained his body and his mind. He studied all there was to know about space and space travel and the physiological and psychological tolls space will have on him. He persevered, and soon he was accepted as an astronaut for NASA. In another world, he would’ve been the youngest astronaut ever, but something else stopped him.

As part of his training, Siebrun experienced a simulation of the zero gravity conditions similar to what he will work with up in space. He went in, tasked to solve a problem in a recreation of the interior of the space shuttle he will spend the next six months in. Within seconds, gravity dropped. The lights had went out.

He unhooked himself, floated in the darkness, and saw the stars sparkle before his eyes. In the light, he saw a new path, one that spoke of discovery and isolation, the beauty in the mundane. His mind was no longer on his mission. All he thought about was how wonderful the universe and the stars looked, and how he wanted to learn their secrets. He remembered a distinct humming sound that day. He never knew if that sound was caused by the blood filling his ears or the drone of the whirring machines, or if perhaps it was the universe singing to him the hymn of its life. All he knew was that he was drawn in, a child lured away from home by the Pied Piper’s song.

Siebren may not have become an astronaut, but he left that day with a renewed sense of purpose and unbridled curiosity. Siebren the astronaut died so he could be reborn as Siebren the astrophysicist. There was not a day in his life that he regretted his choice. He knew he was destined to decode the universe’s song.

It was only later in his life that he realizes that the universe sings to him not so he understands their pain, but so someone can hear it cry in the dark.

* * *

Sometimes he is oversensitive. Other times he is not. He can’t remember if it’s another side effect to the cosmic powers he had been granted or if it he has always lived life this way. He never liked socks and shoes, he remembered, or was that a dream? The lines between reality and imagination have blurred so much. He’s seen so much of the fabric of reality that he can only define it by the seams.

Talon is more than happy to let him walk around the base with no shoes. They seem more concerned about the floating more than anything. A perfectly natural response, he thinks, but a disheartening one nevertheless. He needed an outlet for his powers, and floating was the least disruptive one. There will only be chaos and destruction if he subdued his powers. Many a person have died trying to keep his powers in check. At least, that’s what the jailers in the facility told him. He refused to call them doctors, no matter how much they insisted otherwise. He is insane, but he is not stupid.

At least there is one who is not disturbed by him, and that is Doctor Moira O’Deorain. Though not a trained psychologist by any means, she has been courteous enough to look after his mental wellbeing and doublecheck that the anti-psychotics he had been prescribed are of the correct dosage. He is a rather large man, and his volume of distribution is significantly higher than average, but she calculates it with ease and makes appropriate adjustments based on his behaviour. The staff at the facility had trouble sedating him. He had to learn how to escape into his own mind to endure.

Sigma doesn’t have much of a mind to retreat into anymore. If he tries to retreat, he succumbs. Whenever he succumbs, he loses days, sometimes weeks of memories. He does something in these moments because every time he finally regains control, his body is tired and there’s blood all over his clothes. He checks the calender every time he wakes up. Time is no longer linear.

Moira helps him in the rehabilitation process. They are kindred in the sense that they share a similar burden of understanding the powers they now wielded. Their reasoning differed, however. Moira is convinced it can all be explained by science, and that those who called their powers magic were too feeble-minded to consider the vastness of scientific possibility. Sigma is less convinced that science is the true answer. He hears the whisperings of the universe, singing its sanctimonious melody in his ears, and he thinks that perhaps their abilities are in some part due to the will of the universe. Not that he will ever say this to her. She will dismiss it as part of his ramblings, he is sure of it.

He hears the melody again and grits his teeth. Moira thinks they are mere auditory hallucinations, a result of his psychosis. Sigma knows it is the song of the universe, calling out to him, beckoning him.

**Release me, release me!**

“You’ve been showing significant improvement, Sigma,” Moira says during one such rehabilitation session. He remembers and forgets his true name with the rise and fall of the sun. As far as he’s concerned, Sigma is his name now.

“I think I have a better grasp on my abilities,” he responds slowly. She gestures for him to demonstrate and he complies. He hums in his head the melody that haunts his waking life. Two hyperspheres appear in his outstretched hand.

Moira smiles. “Fascinating.” She glances down at her notes and for a second she frowns. He blinks, and it’s replaced by a more familiar, studious look. He’s not sure if he imagined it or not. “I have organized a special test today. It is time to test the limit of your abilities.”

His brows furrowed. “My limits? Are you sure?”

“Our organization is interested in seeing you finish your research. Talon wants to help you understand how to harness the black hole again.”

A cold chill ran down his spine as a memory played before his eyes. He yells, weightless and fragile and alone in the deep reaches of space. The black hole is beautiful and horrible and awe inspiring and terrifying. He can feel himself floating higher now, the hyperspheres rising with him. Numbers fly across his vision and his body is numb. The universe is whispering its dark desires into his ear again. **Hold it together, HOLD IT TOGETHER!**

A hand is placed on his shoulder and he returns back to earth. The voices have quieted down to a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning. The hand releases and he realizes that it belongs to Moira. She frowns.

“Perhaps you are not ready for the next step.”

His eyes widen. “N-no no, I am ready.” His body is quivering and the cool air on his feet is almost too much. He quickly summons the hyperspheres again. “I-I am in control. I can do this. Please.”

Her smile is soft with sympathy but there’s something else in her eyes, a sadistic glint that makes him wonder if she was hoping he would say this. But Moira was his friend, she would not do anything to him unless…no. No, that cannot be the case. There is no evidence.

“If you are sure,” she says, and leads him out of her office. She stands in front of an unfamiliar door and swipes a card. It beeps, green lights flickering above before the door slides open.

He’s never explored this section of the facility, so he does not know what to expect. Whatever he imagined, it wasn’t this. Men and women make a ruckus from their cages, staring warily in his direction. The humans shriek and beg in their native languages. He recognizes what they are saying, but he does not understand them. He’s fluent in six different languages and he understood the individual words, but language loses sense when it is screamed at him with such vitriol. Formulas fly by his vision, desperately trying to find the patterns in their speech but even math fails him. The equations were correct, but the answer was wrong, why was it wrong? His hold on the harness is slipping.

Moira notices his horrified expression. She is unperturbed. “Don’t listen to them. They are far more disturbed than you ever were. You are better than them.”

He nods, but it is hesitant. He floats behind her, staring at the desolate people with sorrowful eyes. Moira stops at another door at the end of the hallway. She gestures for him to enter.

When he does, he very nearly lost his grip on the harness again.

There’s a man strapped to a chair, naked except for some stained underwear and white cotton socks. His skin is dark, or at least it should be, but red welts stain the dark ebony expanse. His purple bruises blend in with his skin under the solitary lamp above him. Sigma thinks the man is unconscious, but is soon proven wrong when he stirs, rabid eyes staring at him. Those eyes are the same colour of his mother’s stroopwafels, he thinks, but no matter how much he tries, he realizes he can’t recall what his mother looks or sounds like. He doesn’t even know if she is dead. The voices are getting louder, and for once, they are screaming the same thing.

 **This is a torture room,** they cry in unison. **Danger, hold it together, RELEASE ME, GIVE ME VIOLENCE!**

He points his shaking figure at the man. “Who…w-who is he?”

“A criminal,” Moira says blandly, like she is discussing the different varieties of coffee beans. “He has killed many without remorse, and he will do it again if we free him. He is here for the good of humanity.” She turns to him. “He is your first test subject.”

“Test…subject?”

“But of course. Your powers are of high interest. Talon is interested to see the extent of gravity manipulation. There is no device or machine in the earth that can harness its powers. Not like you can.”

The man struggles weakly against his bonds, his yells muffled by the tape over his lips. The voices are shrieking again. **HOLD IT TOGETHER, GIVE ME VIOLENCE, LET ME BE WHOLE!**

Sigma swallows loudly. “This…this is unethical.”

“Remember the experiments committed during the second world war? The atrocities committed were horrible, but we learned so much about the human psyche. Is that information not valuable nowadays? Did it not shape our understanding of psychology? Did it not expand our knowledge of the human mind?”

Not even I understand my mind, he thought morosely.

“You alone hold a power that scientists around the world thought impossible. Think how many people you can save. The inventions we can craft. Interstellar travel will finally be possible. If you are able to manipulate gravity to its fullest and harness the power of a black hole, you can help so many people. But to understand, you need to conduct experiments. And with experiments, you need experimental subjects.”

He approaches the bound man, instincts taking over as he summons the hyperspheres into existence. He knows it hurts him if he directly touches it. Is it the same for others? Will it hurt this man or kill him? How will this man react? Will the tears flow uninhibited until they are begging to stop? What secrets will spill from their lips?

He catches his thoughts and he almost screams. He wants to retreat but his body does not listen to his commands anymore. His limbs are burning hot and freezing cold and he can hear that melody loop again and again. The floor is crumbling beneath his feet, pebbles of rock breaking away, hovering up to him, building up, up, up. He is barely holding onto the ledge. He cannot let himself succumb. Not again. **Release me release me RELEASE ME!**

“Sigma,” Moira says.

“I-I don’t want to lose control.” He’s not sure if he’s saying this to her or to himself. Fear has gripped his heart in a stranglehold.

The melody plays again, this time in its entirety. Formulas flash before his eyes. A golden path appears before him, and he swears he sees the universe now for what it truly is. It is stripped of its pretenses, unveiling to him alone the true extent of its depths and it is endless. It calls him forward. He understands it and he doesn’t know why. Everything is rising around him. There’s shouts of surprise and terror but he cannot hear them, only sense them from the shift in the gravitational field. He is floating higher and higher and higher. Not even the ceiling can stop him.

“The universe is singing to me!” He laughs as he succumbs.

He doesn’t feel anything anymore. Not the wind whipping over his sensitive feet, not the weight of another life taken against their will, not gravity. All he hears is the universe singing its song for him alone.

* * *

He awakens with a start. He’s in a comfy bed in his room in Talon’s HQ, the blankets tucked just the way he liked under his feet. His eyes are half lidded and his body aches. He blearily turned his head to the holographic clock on his bedside. It tells him it’s 2am. With a groan, he pulls himself up and glides over to the curtains, pulling them open to reveal the stars in the sky.

He remembers the last time he was under a starry night sky like this. It was a frosty November night and he was crying tears of joy when he learned he was going to work with eminent professors in The Hague. His colleagues had said he was overly sentimental and sensitive. Men like him don’t cry. Men like him don’t go out into the winter snow in only a pair of pyjamas and some slippers to stare at the stars with all the love and wonder in the world.

He looks down at his hands, surprised to see that they are bruised at the knuckles. He doesn’t recall how they came this way. They weren’t like that the last time he was awake. Pieces of his memories flood back to him in a tidal wave. He remembers talking to Moira in her office. He remembers torturing and killing a man bound to a chair. He remembers being consumed by bloodlust, of being egged on by his new Talon colleagues, all telling him to embrace the darkness they knew lived in everyone’s heart. 

“ _I’m not a villain,”_ he cries, even as his hands were covered in the blood of innocents. “ _I’m not a villain, I’m not a villain_!”

He breathes in and out and the images fade away into the night. The lines between reality and imagination have blurred so much. He concentrates on formulas and equations, the one constant in his universe, and slowly he feels himself ease back into control. He lowers himself down to the ground, wobbling unsteadily but successfully remains standing on his own too feet. He has to keep reminding himself to walk every now and then, if not to maintain muscle mass then to remind himself of what gravity used to feel like. His feet are cold and sensitive but he makes no move to put on the socks he knows are stored in the dresser next to him. He wants to feel the ground beneath him. He wants to feel the sand beneath his feet.

He stares at the door for minutes. Ever since he came to Talon, a part of him longs to escape. The people in Talon were far more stimulating conversation than the doctors at the government facility, and they treat him with the gravitas his title commanded, but they still walk on eggshells around him. He cannot leave Talon’s HQ without an escort. He cannot talk to anyone that wasn’t his escort, with very few exceptions. The public will break out in a riot if they knew he was alive, they said. 

Some days he wants to be free, but he knows he is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. He knows that, and yet he wants to see the world once more. He misses the little things his old life gave him. The stroopwafels with his morning tea, the afternoon walks by the Hofvijver, the starry night sky that he would admire by afar from his telescope.

The universe sings again, and he realizes he understand the lyrics. It beckons him outside, whispering sweet nothings in his ear that meant everything.

He glances at the holographic clock. It’s approaching 2:30am. He glances at the two hyperspheres he summoned in his hand, sedated and in control. His mind is clear today.

“I suppose it would not hurt to go outside,” he whispers to himself. His eyes are on the door. A smile creeps up his face. "I need the exercise. Stretch my legs.”

He follows the universe and escapes the confines of Talon HQ. He walks into the outside air and smells the dust in the air and feels the earth on his toes. The universe sings for him to return to him, and he sings it a tune of his own creation. One day he will fly up over the atmosphere and be lost among the stars and his mind will be whole enough to give the universe the love and attention it deserves, but that day is not today.

For tonight only, while he has his mind, he walks the planet with his feet on the ground and his head up in space.


End file.
